


Give

by Cheloya



Category: Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: Old, imported. For No True Pairing. Mildmay and Sephiroth: an unexpected act of kindness.





	Give

At least, Sephiroth told himself wearily, the brothel was relatively upmarket. The tables had probably been cleaned within the last seventy-two hours, and the men and women who writhed on podiums and twined together on the (regretably nearby) stage seemed relatively free from disease on the brief occasions when he could no longer avoid looking in their direction.

And his men seemed to be enjoying themselves. After the gruelling Wutai campaign, the last thing he wanted to do was to murder their celebrations by enforcing his own considerably quieter tastes. His men deserved to celebrate in their own way, after all, and if that meant the unrefined staples of wine (they could afford it now) and women (or men, they had judiciously decided) then so be it.

He simply wished that they had been willing to leave him out of it.

Or at least that Zack were here. Zack, in all his cheerful persistence, knew where the line between discomfort and revulsion lay, and when it was safer – wiser – not to push.

If Dollet, Stevens or Altamont - or any of the rest of them – had ever known where that line lay, their blood alcohol level had erased the knowledge from their minds.

Such it was that Sephiroth found himself ascending the brothel’s narrow and dimly lit staircase, not bothering to fight the laughter or the pushing, enthusiastic hands of his men. At the landing, Altamont pressed a key into his hand and helped shove him, laughing, toward the door to which it belonged. Sephiroth looked balefully at the large, silver-plated seven on the door, used the key without so much as looking over his shoulder, and closed the door.

Musk and sweat were scents easy to distinguish after months in the Wutaian jungle, though given that he was not simply gagging at the stench, it had to be aired regularly. If he were lucky, it would even have fresh sheets.

He could see the foot of the bed from the door, burgundy silk or some other equally impractical fabric, and there was a bathroom to his left. There were coat hooks along the wall to his right, but he wasn’t about to get that comfortable. He left the keys to the room in the alcove by the door and walked the few steps down the short entrance corridor to survey what else his men had purchased for the evening.

The young man on the bed wore his hair past his shoulders, fox red and naturally so if the eyebrows were any indication. It was tucked neatly behind his left ear, purposefully exposing the jagged scar that ran from his upper lip to his temple. If he noticed Sephiroth, he gave no sign. A submissive, then. That could work.

“Are the sheets clean?” he asked, crisp and even, and the boy – who could not have been any older than fifteen, beneath that scar and the serious expression – nodded once. Sephiroth saw his eyes flicker, though. It was not a common question. “Good. Get up.”

The boy slid off the side of the bed, making no effort to be seductive, but not sullen either. His expression was as tightly guarded as any of the prisoners they had taken in Wutai, though his green eyes, darker than mako, were easier to read. Sephiroth removed his coat, saw the boy’s eyes widen as the full length of his hair came into view, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He tossed the heavy leathers to the boy.

“Hang that up,” he said. He took a seat on the bed, not bothering either to remove his boots or peel back the covers, and lay down, tugging his hair over his shoulder. “Wake me when the rest of those idiots are done.”

At last, a reaction. “What?”

Sephiroth closed his eyes. “I’m humouring them by attending, but that does not extend to fucking anyone. If you’d like to go find another client,” he added, well aware of the usual financial circumstance of such employees, “be my guest.”

The boy watched him warily, green eyes more open than his face was, and then, as Sephiroth watched, a small spark appeared in their depths. He didn’t smile – the scar would make any stretching of his facial features groteque at best – but there was a lightness in his expression that made Sephiroth almost glad he had attended this... celebration. If only to spare the boy a few hours of this repugnant work.

“There ain’t nothin’ else I can do for you, General?” He said carefully, voice deeper than Sephiroth had been expecting, heavily threaded with the growl and the twist of the slums. Sephiroth opened one eye.

“No,” he said. “Thankyou.” And he closed his eyes again.

Sleeping in this unfamiliar room was an impossibility, but he lay with his eyes closed for several minutes until he felt the other side of the mattress sink down. He didn’t bother to frown. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me?” he asked, more coolly than he might have done, had he not spent the past four hours trying to decide whether it would be better to watch his still full glass or gyrating bodies in poor neon lighting.

There was a surprised sort of pause. “Uh,” said the boy. “I didn’t mean nothin’, sir, but there ain’t exactly any comfy place to sit without the bed.”

To his surprise, rather than insinuating himself any closer, the boy had perched on the opposite edge of the mattress. There was a book in his hands, a novel, and when he saw Sephiroth’s eyes flick towards it, the whore tucked his chin down as if he were embarrassed and angled the cover that Sephiroth might better read the title. Though he clearly expected ridicule, Sephiroth did not recognise the book, and thus could not determine whether the boy was embarrassed at his choice of material, or simply embarrassed to be reading.

“You don’t mind if’n I keep myself occupied?” he asked after a moment, almost anxiously. “I ain’t had a chance to finish, and I gotta give it back to Mister Wolsey pretty soon.” Green eyes almost hopeful in a face that refused to be. Sephiroth nearly smiled.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Just keep half an ear out for the rest of my men.”

The boy grimaced. “’Scuse me, sir, but give the girls five minutes and they ain’t gonna be hard to hear.”

A prude in a whorehouse. Sephiroth never would have guessed. Still, he was not particularly attached to the idea of finding out anything about his men that four years in close quarters had not already revealed, and the boy seemed just as amused by his grimace as he had been by the whore’s. He snorted, a soft sound behind the cloth cover, and that was enough to make Sephiroth arch an eyebrow.

There were few who found him amusing, and fewer still who dared to show that amusement to his face, Zack being foremost in that category. It would have seemed a good omen, had Sephiroth believed in omens. As it was, it sparked a curiosity toward the slum rat that begged satisfaction, particularly since it was the only thing that had some chance of occupying him for the duration of the evening.

“What is your name?”

The whore looked surprised again, green eyes wide over the top of his novel. Without the scar and the set of his jaw to hide behind, the eyes were startlingly young.

“Uh,” he said, eloquently. “Name’s Mildmay, sir.” And when Sephiroth quirked a curious brow, muttered, “Mild-may-your-sufferings-be-at-the-hands-of-the-wicked,” in a way that said he had been asked too many times. “My mother was a weird ‘un.”

“We have that in common,” Sephiroth offered. His own name was from one piece of scripture or another, he knew, though he’d never bothered with the specifics. “And what are you reading, Mildmay?”

This time, the embarrassment showed plainly in a crimson wash across his whole face. “Book of legends,” he muttered under his breath. “Mister Wolsey gets ‘em in from the Canyon, and he lets me borrow ‘em if I keep ‘em looking tidy enough.”

There was a pause, as if he were wrestling with himself over something or other, and through the wall Sephiroth heard the first of undoubtedly many loud moans, thankfully unidentifiable. His wince must have spurred Mildmay onward.

“Did you... that is, I been reading about materia,” he mumbled. “And summons, and stuff. Did you ever get a look at a real summon materia, general?”

Sephiroth considered. Then he tugged his shirt out of his pants, fingers flickering over the hidden armour, searching for the relatively harmless materia he’d been assigned for the parades. When Mildmay saw the soft glow of the scarlet materia, his eyes looked like they might fall out of his head.

Sephiroth flicked it at him, and Mildmay caught it deftly, slipping the book under one arm. Pickpocket, Sephiroth guessed, and narrowed his eyes slightly, fingers still on the Sense materia in his belt. No magic in him, though – or not enough to summon anything more terrifying than whatever was kept in the nearest stable.

“Nothing too impressive in there,” he said. “True summons are not for common use, and hardly... sporting. At low levels, these are used to call our mounts from a distance.”

“Midgar ain’t hardly sporting, sir,” said Mildmay, and then seemed to remember who he was talking to. He looked up warily, but did not try to backpedal, and Sephiroth found he appreciated the honesty. He held out his hand for the materia, and Mildmay laid it tentatively in his palm. Again, he looked contemplative.

“Guess I oughta thank you for winning the war,” he said, and Sephiroth experienced a moment of alarm. He had fought off enough slavering worshipers at official Shinra functions, and this boy was barely more than a child. But Mildmay continued, “Truly, though, all I gotta say is, thanks for... well, you know.” He turned that interesting brick red again, and opened his book to keep from meeting Sephiroth’s eyes. “I ain’t in here every day, but it’s nice not to have to... put up.”

It was probably the politest way he could think of to phrase it, and Mildmay snorted again before his eyes took on that strange smiling sparkle.

“Not that there’s anyone down here who wouldn’t for you, sir, but you know what I mean.” And, spying Sephiroth’s blank expression, “Or maybe you don’t. Uh.” He bent his head to the pages for a few minutes, determinedly not looking in Sephiroth’s direction at all, and then – when something in the next room over began to judder violently against the wall – he closed it again with a snap.

Sephiroth watched him steadily as he slid off the bed, plain linen shirt rumpled around his hips. He was surprised to find himself almost disappointed when Mildmay headed for the door, but when he heard the lock snap into place, that slid directly into bemusement and stayed there. He couldn’t imagine what the boy hoped to accomplish by locking them both in.

Certainly, Sephiroth had nothing to fear from a slums whore.

Even one who rolled graceful, muscular shoulders as he walked back toward the bed, as if he were long-accustomed to preparing for battle. Again, he felt a faint pang that Zack was not present – Zack, who rolled his shoulders with the same easy grace, who could perhaps have lent a shred of his joy to this scar-faced slumrat.

“You don’t want to hang around all night,” said Mildmay, enunciating carefully around the scar and the noise from the next room over. “Right?”

 _I could be persuaded,_ Sephiroth thought, and said, “Correct.”

“Well.” He didn’t smile, but there was a faint hint of amusement in his dark green eyes. “You’ll want to follow me, then.”

The ceiling was low enough that Sephiroth could have pressed his hand flat against it without fully straightening his elbow. Mildmay had to stand on the nightstand, but once there he pressed his hand _through_ the ceiling, pushing a panel aside as if it were as common an exit to the room as the door.

“It’s a little dusty,” Mildmay admitted, still with that Zack-like twinkle in his eye. “But it’ll get us to the roof, and you can get from here to Shinra Tower pretty easy from there.”

“Easily,” Sephiroth said without thinking. Mildmay blinked, and then his lips quirked.

“Sound like m’brother,” he said. “You coming?”


End file.
